


in you (i'm lost)

by neroh



Series: ever thine, ever mine, ever ours [1]
Category: The Loft (2014), The Princess Diaries - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Infidelity, Light BDSM, M/M, Murder, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroh/pseuds/neroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now,” booms a rich baritone over the clinking glasses and patron’s voices in the club.  It’s one part cocky, the other part husky, like a perfectly mixed cocktail - and not what Nicholas wants to deal with. “You look like a man who could use a drink.”</p><p>It always starts out so simply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in you (i'm lost)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [froggy_freek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggy_freek/gifts).



> I have no excuse for this.
> 
> The mix is located [here](http://8tracks.com/boldly/stripped-down-to-the-bone).

“Now,” booms a rich baritone over the clinking glasses and patron’s voices in the club. It’s one part cocky, the other part husky, like a perfectly mixed cocktail - and not what Nicholas wants to deal with. “You look like a man who could use a drink.”  
  
Nicholas Devereaux rolls his eyes as he looks down in his almost empty glass of scotch, the amber liquid pooling at the bottom. “I have a drink,” he replies without bothering to look up. “But thanks.”  
  
“So you do,” says the baritone, leaning closer.  
  
Nicholas catches a whiff of his expense cologne - spicy and subtle. “So I do,” he echoes sourly before bringing the glass to his lips and sips down the rest of the scotch.  
  
“And now your drink is empty,” the baritone tells him teasingly.  
  
Nicholas presses his lips together and grits his teeth. He doesn’t want to deal with this idiot standing next to him; he just wants to drink away his misery - anonymously and alone.

The rush of moving air brushes against his skin as the baritone raises his hand to flag down the bartender. “I don’t need someone, _especially you_ , to buy me a drink,” he snaps, knowing full well how undignified, how ridiculous he sounds.

_Maybe that’s why Mia dumped you…a future king would never behave this way._

That little voice stings and leaves an ache in his chest as Nicholas glances up to get a good look of this stranger. 

He’s a good looking man with dark hair, golden skin, and eyes of an undetermined color. All very put together with his fancy haircut, tailored suit, high priced accessories, and debonair grin - a guy that would make any girl happy.

Nicholas realizes that he’s staring when the man raises his brow and quirks a grin.  
  
“What were you drinking?” he asks casually as the bartender comes over, like this stranger owns the place.  
  
Nicholas gawks at him for a moment and shakes his head. “Um…” he stammers as he looks down at his empty glass. “Glenlivet Nadurra.”  
  
“Interesting choice,” the man comments before turning back to the bartender, speaking to him in hushed tones, too low for Nicholas to understand. The bartender goes to do this man’s bidding and comes back with two glasses of scotch, neat. The baritone thanks him and passes him a folded fifty dollar bill between his fingers.

“Drink up,” says the man as he brings his own glass to his lips.  
  
Nicholas does drink and tastes the soft and soothe liquid on his tongue. He is impressed, though Nicholas won’t admit it. “This is good,” he tells the stranger.  
  
“Macallan 1939,” says the man as he smacks his full lips.  
  
Nicholas is mid-sip when he hears the name of a bottle of scotch that costs around ten grand, give or take. He chokes and roughly swallows the liquid down, feeling it stick uncomfortably to his throat. His eyes burn, his chest aches (not heartbreak, for once), and he coughs.  
  
“You all right there?” the man asks, tilting his head as he watches Nicholas.  
  
Nicholas nods. “Do you make a habit of flaunting your wealth, mister…?”  
  
“Stevens,” the man says, extending his hand ever so casually. “Vince Stevens and the answer is when I see fit.”  
  
Nicholas raises a skeptical brow as he takes the man’s - Vince - hand and shakes it. “Nick,” he tells him.  
  
“Nick…?” Vince asks, his voice taking a teasing tone to it.  
  
Nicholas shrugs. “Just Nick,” he says with a tight grin before turning back to his drink.  
  
“So, Just Nick,” Vince drawls, “what brings you to New York?”  
  
“What makes you think I’m not already from here?”  
  
“The accent for one,” Vince answers as he gives Nicholas a once over. “The European tailoring and shoes, which are none of the usual labels. You know - Gucci, Prada…”  
  
Nicholas snorts into his glass. “I know what Gucci and Prada are.”  
  
“I don’t doubt that,” Vince comments, unperturbed. “The fact that you aren’t mingling with anyone.”  
  
Nicholas shrugs, his expression darkening. “Maybe I don’t want to mingle.”  
  
“A good looking guy like you?” Vince questions before giving him a dismissive wave. “Please. You could have anyone you wanted in this place. Except…”  
  
He doesn’t like the way that he leisurely pronounces the last word - the long, drawn letters rolling over Vince’s tongue. “Except what?” Nicholas snaps.  
  
Vince shrugs his shoulders. “Ah,” is all he says as he takes another sip of his scotch, if he’s found the answer in Nicholas’ heated reply.  
  
“What?” Nicholas asks.  
  
Vince shakes his head. “Nothing.”  
  
“What do you mean nothing?” Nicholas grumbles, setting his drink down on the bar.  
  
Vince chuckles into his glass. He continues to sip on his scotch, ignoring the fact that Nicholas is seething with anger, which only pisses the latter off even more. He has no idea why he’s sitting there, taking shit from a complete stranger, but Nicholas can’t seem to remove himself.

Instead, he watches Vince drink down his scotch as the minutes tick by until he sets the glass down and looks over at Nicholas with a Cheshire grin.  
  
“You came to New York to blend in with the crowd, disappear,” Vince tells him as he leans in, his scotch laced breath caressing Nicholas’ skin. “How do I know this? Because a guy like you could easily make friends within seconds of stepping off the tarmac. Hell, I bet you could fuck a flight attendant on the way over from where ever you came from. You know - flash her a charming smile, bat those pretty blue eyes. But you won’t. You won’t put yourself out there. You’ll keep to yourself, close off the world, build up invisible walls. Why? Because you let someone in. You let yourself fall in love and they crushed you without a single thought.”  
  
Nicholas’ breath hitches in his throat and he swears that his blood has turned to ice, running impossibly cold in his veins.  
  
“So you ran away,” Vince continues, stepping closer, his lips touching Nicholas’ earlobe. “You ran away to forget, to disappear. I know you’re not going to drink the pain away because you like being in control too much. You like to have a plan, to know where things are headed and now that you’ve lost it, you are grasping at straws.”  
  
He swallows, hoping that in the mood lighting of the lounge, Vince can’t see him trembling. Nicholas feels the drink in his hand being pried away. He follows the glass as it slides across the bar and is lifted up by Vince, who is staring Nicholas in the eye. 

Vince doesn’t break eye contact as he finishes Nicholas’ drink and winks when he sets the glass down. He licks his lips and leans in. “I know what you want,” he whispers into the shell of Nicholas’ ear. “I know what you need, Just Nick.”  
  
“You have no idea,” Nicholas chokes out, embarrassed by the unevenness of his voice.  
  
Vince chuckles. “I know that you want me to bend you over and fuck you until the only thing you’re aware of is the taste of my dick and my balls slapping against your ass,” he practically purrs. “I know that you want me to force you on your knees and fuck your face until you forget who you are, where you came from, and why you’re even here.”  
  
Nicholas realizes that he’s panting as the Vince’s obscene words fill his ears, turning into haunting white noise.  
  
“You want it to hurt,” Vince tells him as his hand squeezes Nicholas’ thigh, leaving a pleasant itch behind. “You want it to hurt as much as you’re hurting. You want to experience something cathartic; something that gives your pain meaning.”  
  
Nicholas wants to deny it, wants to tell this man that he’s full of shit, but instead, he is silent. His world has dissolved and pinpointed to just him and Vince, all other sound drowned up and disappeared.

Just this strange man in expensive clothes and his own hardening dick in his pants.  
  
“So yes, Just Nick,” Vince drawls as he palms Nicholas’ thigh towards the crease where it meets his groin, making the other man groan. “I have an idea.”  
  
Nicholas shudders when Vince’s hand slides away, his fingers deliberating grazing the material of his pants.

Vince reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a business card not a moment later.  
  
The way he slides it across the bar is so casual that Nicholas wonders if he just hallucinated the moments preceding this. Nicholas stares down at the black cardstock with white ink, seeing his acquaintance’s name, telephone number, and email address.  
  
“I look forward to hearing from you,” Vince tells him, seductively.  
  
And then he’s gone, the scent of his cologne lingering like a ghost.

 

* * *

  
  
_“It’s just…” she hesitated, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “It’s just that you aren’t ready.”_  
  
_Nicholas raised his brow. “I’m not ready?” he echoed, confused. “Not ready for what?”_  
  
_“All of this,” Mia replied, nervously. “Marriage, being a ruler, acting mature…”_  
  
_Nicholas shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about? Acting mature? What brought this on? What did I do?”_  
  
_“Nicholas,” Mia said, sounding exasperated. “I need someone I can rely on. This country needs someone they can rely on. It’s not you.”_  
  
_Nicholas grabbed her as she tried to walk past him, earning a glare from Joe, her ever present bodyguard. “Mia,” he rasped, his voice cracking. “Let me fix this.”_  
  
_She looked him dead in the eye and he knew immediately that she didn’t want to fix it. Nicholas swallowed and let her go, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of her arm._  
  
_He watched her walk out of his life, taking his heart with her._  
  
_A month later she was engaged to someone else, someone better suited for her, and Nicholas tucked away his mother's diamond and sapphire engagement ring that he had resized to fit Mia's slender fingers._

 _Three months later, the day Mia married that someone else, Nicholas left for New York, to the apartment that his parents owned before they died._  
  
_When he walked into the apartment, he felt the stagnant air and the memories overwhelm him. It was just as he remembered - the furniture that his mother chose, the paintings that used to belong to his father. Just another memory of a happier time, long gone and forever in the past._  
  
_Nicholas crumpled to the floor and sobbed for the first time since Mia left him._  
  
He wakes up to the memory of his cries echoing through the apartment while his heart hammers like a drum. Nicholas knows he’s in what used to be his parent's bedroom and that two days have passed since his encounter with Vince.

As he stretches his limbs and cracks his back and neck, the business card in all of its alluring glory taunts him from his bedside table.  
  
He’s made it a point to ignore the black rectangle with white text. Nicholas goes about his life, as mundane as it is: going to museums, walking through Central Park, and seeing a movie. He does it alone, of course, because he doesn’t know anyone here.

Except for that stranger who read him like a book and laid all of his secrets out for the world to see. 

Vince’s words haunting him during every waking moment, bringing back memories and feelings that Nicholas swore he successfully buried.  
  
Nicholas picks up the object, staring at the contrast between the darkness of the card and his fair skin. What did he have to lose, Nicholas wonders to himself. Clearly nothing except for what was left of his dignity.

Though the thought of getting laid is appealing.

He reaches for his cell phone and drops back on the pillows, holding both objects above him.

Nicholas dials the number into the screen’s keypad and hits call while he still has the nerve or temporary lapse of judgment. On the second ring, he hears Vince drawl, “Just Nick. It’s good to hear from you.”  
  
“How did you know it was me?” Nicholas asks, baffled.  
  
He can hear Vince chuckling. “For one, I don’t recognize the number,” he explains, “and two, I don’t get many calls on this phone.”  
  
“I feel honored,” Nicholas replies with a roll of his eyes as he slips out of bed. He’s not sure if he really likes Vince, with all of his cocky airs and careless ways. He’s like an overgrown school boy.  
  
“You should,” Vince agrees. “I’m assuming that you don’t have any plans tonight.”  
  
Nicholas is both shocked - he doesn’t but Vince doesn’t need to know that - and offended because, honestly, who does this asshole think he is?

“You shouldn’t assume so much,” Nicholas retorts as he walks down the hallway to the kitchen. “It makes you look like an ass.”  
  
“Meet me at Huckleberry Bar in Williamsburg at eight,” Vince tells him without missing a beat and completely ignoring the fact that Nicholas has just insulted him. “Wear something casual; you know - jeans and a nice shirt.”  
  
“And now you’re telling me what to wear,” Nicholas comments with a sigh.  
  
Vince chuckles again. “I think you might like it, Just Nick,” he remarks, his voice talking on that husky tone. The same tone that he used when he whispered dark promises into Nicholas’ ear. “I’ll see you at eight.”  
  
The call disconnects before Nicholas can even get a word in edgewise and leaves him on edge for the rest of the day. It’s stupid, he decides as he gets ready to meet Vince, to be so irritated over some cocky son of a bitch.

As he grumbles and curses his way through showering, shaving, and getting dressed, Nicholas realizes midway that he’s unconsciously listened to Vince.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror, taking in the designer jeans, crisp button down shirt, and expensive loafers and immediately feels like an idiot.

Or a slave.  
  
Or something.  
  
Gathering up his wallet, keys, and jacket, Nicholas finds a cab and heads to the bar.

The establishment is already crowded by the time Nicholas arrives. He stares at the bar sign for several moments, internally debating if he should turn around and go home or just grow a pair already.  
  
“It’s just a bar,” says that voice by his ear, causing his heart to speed up. “It doesn’t bite.”  
  
Nicholas stiffens. “The question is, do you?” he asks as he turns to see Vince standing within inches of him, grinning as his eyes give Nicholas an approving once over.  
  
“Depends,” Vince replies as he gestures for Nicholas to follow him into the bar.  
  
Nicholas follows. “On?”  
  
“You’ll just have to find out,” Vince replies, the vague words making Nicholas’ skin pleasantly itch. He waves to a well-dressed woman in black, who smiles back and makes her way through the crowd.  
  
The lights of the bar gives her blonde hair a reddish hue as she leans in to give Vince a chaste peck on the cheek. “On time as usual, Vince,” she says.  
  
Nicholas watches Vince grin in reply. “You know I’m always punctual, Leigh.”  
  
“Don’t I know it,” this woman – Leigh – teases. She turns to see Nicholas and arches her brow. “You’ve brought a little friend.”  
  
Vince doesn’t make introductions and instead asks, “Were you able to swing it?”  
  
“Of course,” she says. “You know where it is. I’ll have them send up some drinks. Any requests?”  
  
Vince grins again. “The usual,” he tells her before motioning to Nicholas to follow him.  
  
Nicholas finds himself being lead towards the back of the bar and up a flight of dark stairs, away from the noise and hordes of people. “What, do you don’t want to be seen with me?” he quips.  
  
“Complete opposite,” Vince tells him as he stops in front of a door and opens it, turning the knob.  
  
Nicholas raised a brow. “Oh?”  
  
“Yeah…oh,” Vince teases. “After you.”  
  
Nicholas sees that the door leads to a private room, tastefully decorated with a billiards table in the center of the room. He shrugs off his jacket as he steps into the room, taking in the L-shaped couch, private bar, and old fashioned jukebox. “What, you don’t mingle with mere mortals?”  
  
“Only on rare occasions,” Vince replies as he shuts the door.  
  
Nicholas can feel the man’s eyes on him as he tosses his jacket on the end of the couch. “So, I should feel special,” he comments, turning his head.  
  
In the light, he sees that Vince’s eyes are green flecked with brown, clear and glinting back at him. They aren’t the dark color that Nicholas had originally thought, though these hazel irises make him edgy nonetheless.  
  
Vince just shrugs and slowly takes off his jacket. “You surprised me,” he remarks, tossing the jacket on top of Nicholas’.  
  
“I did?” the younger man asks. “How?”  
  
Vince’s tongue glides over his lower lip as he walks towards Nicholas, invading his personal space with the heat of his body and the scent of his cologne. Nicholas watches Vince’s mouth quirks into a smile while he observes the younger man gulp quite audibly.

“I thought that you would have followed me out of the lounge that night,” he admits in a husky voice as he leans in, brushing his lips against Nicholas’ ear. “Not that I would have minded, but I enjoy this more. Watching you squirm.”  
  
“You like making people uncomfortable,” Nicholas replies hoarsely.  
  
Vince shakes his head, nuzzling his nose against Nicholas’ jaw. “No,” he says, pressing his lips against Nicholas’ skin. “I like giving people what they need.”  
  
“What do you think I need?” he asks, expecting some sort of smart ass, glossed over answer.  
  
Instead Vince kisses him, his tongue teasing his mouth until Nicholas parts his lips; it’s impossibly warm and tastes like mint, lust, and greed. His tongue rolls over Nicholas’ with ease and skill, igniting a low moan from the younger man.

Nicholas clutches the front of Vince’s shirt, balling the fabric in his fists as the kiss deepens into something fiery and dark.

He barely notices the waitress that brings up a bottle of scotch and two glasses, nor when she sets them down at the bar and leaves the room.

Nicholas’ world has dwindled down to his lips against Vince’s and the hands that are cupping his ass, pulling him closer.

They’re now moving, nipping and teasing his jaw, his neck, the spot behind his ear that makes his knees weak. Nicholas lets out a shuddering breath and lets his eyes flutter shut.  
  
“Do you trust me?” Vince asks him as he palms Nicholas’ hardening cock through his jeans. “Do you trust me, Just Nick?” He squeezes him and pulls on his earlobe, igniting a whine from the younger man. “I can give you what you want, what you need…only if you trust me.”  
  
Nicholas groans, feeling the pressure of his fly being pulled down and a hand, warm and inviting, finding its way into his pants.

His breath is coming in harsh rasps and his head spins as Vince’s thumb slithers over his head, smearing his own precum over the gland, teasing him with promises to come.

Hell - if Vince wanted to fuck him over the back of the couch, he'd let him.  
  
“Nick?” Vince whispers.  
  
“Yes,” he replies wantonly. “I trust you.”  
  
Even though he knows he shouldn’t.

 

* * *

  
They stay for a drink before Vince eases the glass out of the Nicholas’ hand and tells him to get his jacket.

Nicholas follows him out of the bar and into a cab that is waiting for them at the curb. As he slides across the back seat with Vince right behind him, he hears the older man giving the driver an address in Tribeca. 

“Your place?” Nicholas asks him. Vince just grins as he cups the back of Nicholas’ head and pulls him into another searing, scotch laced kiss.

They continue making out until the cab stops and the driver taps on the glass partition. Bleary eyed and dazed, Nicholas watches as Vince hands the driver a wad of cash.  
  
“Come on,” he says, flashing a smile before getting out of the cab.  
  
Nicholas follows and realizes that he’s standing in front of a high-rise apartment building in the center of the up-scale neighborhood. “You live here?” he asks.  
  
“I _entertain_ here,” Vince corrects as he takes out a card from his wallet, walking towards the entrance as he does so.  
  
Nicholas raises a brow they make their way into the building and to the top floor. “Entertain?”  
  
“Yeah,” Vince replies without looking back. “Are you offended?”  
  
Nicholas shakes his head because he’s really not. “Should I be?”  
  
“It’s very rare that I bring a guy back here,” Vince explains as they stop by a door. He swipes the card on a sensor and the light turns green. He considers Nicholas, licking his lips. “Consider yourself lucky.”  
  
Before Nicholas can reply Vince pushes the door open, revealing a sleek loft. Nicholas steps inside, talking in the chrome fixtures, modern lines, exposed brick; clearly a man’s apartment.

As he wanders through his surroundings, Nicholas finds the bed and stops in his tracks.

To his surprise, it has been immaculately made unlike his own bed at home. It lacks the usual trappings – throw pillows and decorative blankets – just four plush pillows, crisp white sheets, and a dark comforter.  
  
“Inviting isn’t it?” Vince whispers into his ear, pressing into Nicholas so that the younger man can feel his hardening length.  
  
Nicholas shivers. “Yes,” he whispers back as Vince lifts his jacket off his shoulders and tosses it onto the floor without a single care.  
  
“I bet,” Vince muses as he starts to unbutton Nicholas’ shirt, slowly and provocatively, “that you haven’t done this before…with a man.” 

Nicholas swallows as his shirt is removed, his undershirt following it. Vince’s hands are on his bare skin and traveling lower, pulling the belt out of the loops of his jeans. He shakes his head. 

“Remember what I told you,” Vince purrs – _fucking purrs_ – into his ear.  
  
Nicholas lets out a gasp as hands that are not his own strokes his cock inside his jeans. He groans as his clothing pools around his ankles.  
  
“I’m going to bend you over and fuck you just like I know you want me to,” Vince tells him as he pushes Nicholas to his knees. “But first things first…” 

Nicholas ends up getting his face fucked by Vince, who ruts into his mouth with intent and one hand fisting the hairs on the back of the younger man’s head.

All the while as Nicholas just takes it with tears streaming down his cheeks and his jaw aching, loving every second of the older man’s dick in his mouth. 

He’s surprised when Vince pulls out, tapping his spit slick cockhead on Nicholas’ swollen lips, and says, “Get on the bed.”  
  
He does what he’s told, stumbling towards the mattress and landing on all fours. He’s beyond aroused when Vince approaches the bed, the sound of his clothing dropping on the floor mixed with Nicholas’ ragged breathing.  
  
“I’m going to make sure you remember me,” Vince breathes into his ear as one of his hands cups Nicholas’ bare ass, slapping the taut skin. He chuckles when the younger man starts and gasps. 

Trembling, Nicholas blinks back nervous tears, uncertain of as to why he’s having such a reaction.

He wants this. He wants Vince to make good on his promise to fuck him.

He wants it all; the dark promises, the allure, the pain. 

“So tight,” Vince murmurs as he presses a slick finger into Nicholas’ passage. “And mine.”  
  
Nicholas finds his cheek pressed into the mattress, held in place by Vince’s hand on the back of his neck as the other one preps his ass, one finger at a time.

There's discomfort from being breached for the first time, but he can’t control the shudders travelling from head to toe.

Or how he begs for more.

Nicholas hears the foil of a condom wrapper being torn open and waits, not knowing what to expect until Vince pushes into him. He claws at the comforter as his body sings in the best kind of agony. Each thrust threatens to break him, especially when that one spot deep inside is hit and that lights him up while making him writhe like a common whore.

“You like that, don’t you?” Vince grunts as he bucks into him. “You like my cock in your ass, splitting you open and taking what’s mine. Is that what you like?”  
  
Nicholas cries out, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yes,” he pants.  
  
“I didn’t hear you,” Vince snaps, taking his throbbing dick in hand and stroking it in time with the precise movements of his hips. “Is that what you like?”  
  
Nicholas feels his orgasm pooling in his gut; so sudden, too sudden. “Yes,” he chokes out, feeling his balls tighten and his release come barreling at him.  
  
“Louder,” Vince demands, his thumb teasing the underside of Nicholas’ cock.  
  
“Yes,” Nicholas cries out, his voice echoing off the walls of the loft as he comes apart in Vince’s arms. His vision swims in and out of focus and he’s vaguely aware of Vince’s cut off moan as he cums inside of Nicholas. 

Claimed and exhausted, Nicholas allows his eyes drift shut.

He sleeps better than he has in months.

 

* * *

  
So begins his arrangement with Vince. 

They go out to bars, restaurants, and lounges; all of it the foreplay before the actual foreplay.  
  
It’s Vince’s chance to parade Nicholas around like a prized stallion, reminding him of his life back in Genovia where this was expected of him. 

Except he doesn’t act the part of a gentleman, not when Vince takes him back to the loft and thinks of new ways to debauch him. 

He’s been handcuffed to the metal headboard and spanked until his ass cheeks are covered in red welts. He savors the mixture of pain and pleasure as Vince fucks him into oblivion as his ass stings, making Nicholas cry out with each thrust.  
  
There was the time that Vince blindfolded him and ordered Nicholas to keep his hands to himself as deft fingers worked to undress him.

Vince proceeded to suck his soul through his dick as blunt fingers prepped Nicholas’ passage for the older man’s length.

By the time Nicholas was hard again, Vince was whispering obscenities into his sweat laden hair and thrusting unerringly at his prostate until he came again, weak and blank.  
  
Or when Vince had him in a private booth in some fancy restaurant, urging him to scream against the hand that covered his mouth.  
  
A lot of what Vince does to him should be humiliating and Nicholas should be appalled, but when he’s lying on that bed in the loft – sated, loose limbed, and sweat cooling on his skin – he finds that he doesn’t really care.  
  
Even when he goes back to his apartment with a limp in his step, he doesn’t feel anything but the sensation of being free.

 

* * *

  
“Nicholas Devereaux,” Vince says as he sits down at their table in a swank lounge near Nicholas’ own apartment.

He has a mischievous glint in his green eyes when they register the shock on the younger man’s face. “I mean, _Lord_ Nicholas Devereaux.”  
  
Nicholas can feel his cheeks burning as Vince peels off his coat and sets it on top of his own. “How did you find out?” he asks with venom. “And why?” He thought that there was some sort of unspoken agreement that they kept anonymity with this arrangement.

Clearly it is not the case.  
  
“Your wallet fell out of your coat,” Vince offers as he motions for a server.  
  
“And you just happened to open it up?”  
  
“Is that a problem?”  
  
Nicholas flares his nostrils and narrows his eyes at Vince. “If you need to ask like that, you know the answer,” he snaps, leaning into the material of his seat.  
  
Vince tilts his head and arches his brow. “I like to know who I’m fucking, Nick,” he tells him so casually.  
  
“You had my name,” he retorts. “Isn’t that enough?”  
  
Vince grins at him like a lazy cat. “Only part of a name,” he replies before turning to the server and ordering their house red and asking for two menus.  
  
“Semantics,” Nicholas hisses as soon as the server leaves.  
  
Vince shrugs. “You need to relax,” he says. “I thought I was helping you do that.”  
  
Now his cheeks are burning for a different reason and he has to look away, opting to stare out at the other patrons of the establishments.  
  
Anything to keep him from looking at Vince, whose green eyes seem to bore into him and find his secrets.  
  
“I’m married,” Vince tells him, breaking the silence after the server has brought over the wine and menus.  
  
Nicholas nods. “I figured as much,” he says.  
  
“And I have a mistress,” Vince adds as he peruses the menu. He says it like he’s just told Nicholas that his favorite color is blue. “The bruschetta with pesto looks good.”  
  
Nicholas gawks at him. “Do you also have a rent boy?”  
  
“Now you’re making me sound like a pervert,” Vince quips. He glances up with a ghost of a smile. “I should say I _had_ a mistress.”  
  
Nicholas raises a questioning brow, wondering where this is going. “Oh?”  
  
“I found someone more worthy of my time,” he replies as the server comes back. Vince lets Nicholas dwell on his words while he orders for the two of them – the aforementioned appetizer, a dozen oysters, and a pasta dish for them to share. As Vince hands the menus back to the server, he flashes Nicholas a smile.  
  
This time it’s not filled with the dark allure that Nicholas is used to seeing or wanting.  
  
And what’s stranger is that he returns the smile.

 

* * *

  
Nicholas is in the Museum of Modern Art and walking out of the René Magritte exhibition when he runs into Vince. 

And Vince’s wife.

She is a beautiful woman with dark features, tan skin, and impeccable sense of style. He's not entirely surprised, seeing how Vince likes beautiful things. He and Vince stare at each other for a moment, both of them startled and seemingly forgetting that while the island of Manhattan houses almost two million people, it’s still an island.  
  
“Honey,” says the wife as she glances at her pamphlet. “Did you want to see the Magritte exhibit? You know how much I hate Surrealism.” She looks at her husband and follows his green eye gaze to Nicholas. “Hi.”  
  
Nicholas blinks, breaking eye contact. “Hi,” he replies.  
  
“Barbara,” Vince says, finally composing himself. “This is Nicholas, one of my clients.”  
  
She smiles at him and extends her hand. “Barbara Stevens,” she says as Nicholas takes her hand.  
  
“Nicholas Devereaux,” he replies with a smile before turning to Vince. “Good to see you again. For a moment, I didn’t recognize you without a suit on.”  
  
Vince takes his hand and gives it a firm shake. “Likewise,” he says with a grin. “How did you like the Magritte exhibit?”  
  
“It was interesting,” Nicholas tells them. “The curator did a good job with depicting his work through the years, rather than keeping to the more well-known pieces.”  
  
Vince arches a brow and is about to speak when Barbara cuts him off. “You’re a collector?” she asks, impressed.  
  
He shakes his head. “My father was,” he replies. “I just have an appreciation, nothing more.”  
  
“See, I wish my husband would have more of an appreciation for art,” Barbara says, rolling her eyes in her husband’s direction. “You could learn a few things from Nicholas, Vincent.”  
  
Vince snorts and rolls his eyes. “I’m sure,” he replies.  
  
“Don’t mind him,” Barbara tells Nicholas as she lets go of her husband’s arm and starts walking Nicholas away from the exhibit hall, leaving Vince stunned. “I detect an accent. English?”  
  
“By way of Genovia,” Nicholas says politely, glancing over his shoulder to see Vince rushing over to them. “My primary and secondary education was in England.”  
  
Barbara smiles. “Interesting,” she comments. “What brings you to New York?”  
  
“Vacation,” Nicholas replies just as Vince catches up to them, looking particularly horrified. “I needed a change of scenery.”  
  
Barbara seems fascinated. “Good looking and intelligent to boot,” she muses. “Your girlfriend must adore you!”  
  
“There isn’t a girlfriend,” Nicholas says.  
  
“Oh,” Barbara states, knitting her brows in confusion before smiling. “A boyfriend?”  
  
Nicholas shakes his head despite his heart hammering in his chest. He exchanges a peculiar glance with Vince before looking back to Barbara, who is oblivious. “I just got out of something,” he admits. _But don’t feel bad because I’m fucking your husband._  
  
“In that case,” Barbara says, linking arms with Nicholas, “you’re joining us for lunch.”  
  
Neither Vince or Nicholas have time to protest.

 

* * *

  
“That could have been a goddamn disaster,” Vince pants as he flops down next to Nicholas on the bed, his perspiring skin brushing against Nicholas’ arm.  
  
Nicholas hums in agreement, too fucked out to reply coherently.

Vince chuckles before his hand slaps him on the ass as he gets off the bed to fetch them a glass of water.

Nicholas groans at the stinging sensation that sets off another sort of pain in his lower body. “Dammit,” he slurs.  
  
“Too much?” Vince asks as he comes back to bed where he sits on the edge of the mattress. He hands Nicholas the glass and watches as he sips before handing it back. “Are you growing soft on me, Nick?”  
  
Nicholas snorts and rolls his eyes as he turns over, hissing as his sore backside makes contact with the soiled and stained comforter. “Only for the moment,” he grunts out, indicating his flaccid penis.  
  
It earns a chuckle from Vince. “At least she liked you,” he comments after drinking.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“My wife.”  
  
Nicholas raises himself up his elbows and quirks a brow. “And you think this is a good thing because?”  
  
“I’ll get to see more of you,” he replies huskily as he tosses the glass of water over his shoulder and leans over Nicholas, nibbling his collarbone and undoubtedly tasting his drying sweat. His lips move lower, taking one of nipple into his mouth and pressing down with his teeth.  
  
Nicholas shudders into Vince’s touch and feels his dick stirring. “I’m not cleaning that up,” he groans as Vince’s tongue flicks his nipple and his mouth continues to travel down his body, leaving searing kisses and nips in its wake.

 

* * *

  
While Vince makes him feel free, there are certain things that a good hard fuck cannot make Nicholas forget. 

It's his parent’s wedding anniversary; one of many since their passing when he was child. He remembers when he’s in the shower, rising soap off his body after his morning run.

Suddenly the water is too cold and the bathroom is too hot and he cannot get enough oxygen into his lungs. Nicholas manages to turn off the water and stumble back to his bedroom.

He dresses with a tiny measure of composure, pulling on a pair of worn sweatpants and a Cambridge t-shirt and thinks of calling his uncle. 

The same uncle who probably hates him and would prefer Nicholas' head on a platter with foie gras on the side than ever speak or see him again. 

The Viscount Mabrey had been there on that fateful day when a drunk driver careened out of their line and crashed into his parent's car, killing them both.

They had been playing video games on Nicholas’ newly acquired Nintendo and laughing when one of the servants came into the living room. His uncle probably saw the servant out of the corner of his eye when he paused the game and leaned over to kiss Nicholas on the head, whispering, “I’ll be right back.”  
  
He did come back an hour later, and by then Nicholas had fallen asleep on the couch. His uncle had scooped him up in his arms and held him close as he walked Nicholas back to his bedroom.

He can only vaguely recall waking up to ask when his parents were coming back. He had been six at the time, not old enough to understand that the look on his uncle’s face was one of devastation and a new responsibility. 

“We’ll talk in the morning, young man,” his uncle told him as he tucked Nicholas in, not wanting to ruin a good evening. 

They did speak the following day and by that time, his uncle had figured out a way to tell a little boy that his parents were never coming home again. 

“You mean they left me?” he recalls asking in a whisper and only now understands the irony of his words as a child would become a constant theme in his life.  
  
Nicholas goes to his father’s study and sits at the heavy wooden desk, watching the sun set over the city with tears in his eyes. He’s supposed to meet Vince tonight, but Nicholas finds that he cannot bring himself to do it as he drags himself back to bed. 

His phone starts ringing and it’s Vince, wondering where the hell he is. Nicholas wipes his nose on his sleeve and answers the call. “I can’t make it tonight,” he says flatly, unable to hide the sadness in his voice.  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“I told you I can’t make it,” Nicholas tells him as tears sting his eyes.   
  
“And I’m asking where you are,” Vince retorts, though there is a hint of concern that was never there before.  
  
Nicholas reasons that he gives Vince his address because he wants a distraction and it’s not that he’s terrified of being alone. 

When Vince comes through the front door that Nicholas had left unlocked and finds him in his bedroom with tears streaming down his face, he admits that he wants someone there with him. 

Vince crawls into bed with him and wraps his arms around Nicholas, who continues to whimper until he starts dozing off on the older man’s chest.  
  
It’s hazy when he hears Vince on the phone with his wife. “Remember Nicholas? The kid from MOMA?” he explains, trying to keep his voice low. “He’s having some family problems and I don’t feel right leaving him on his own.” 

Nicholas feels his fingers in his hair as he listens to his wife speaking on the other end. “Yeah, I’ll let him know,” Vince tells her, his voice fading as sleep overtakes Nicholas. “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.”  
  
The next morning, Nicholas wakes up with Vince’s arm wrapped over his waist and his chest against his back. He’s confused at first because he doesn’t remember changing positions or a single time when they've cuddled, then he feels Vince’s bare leg brushing against the material of his sweatpants. 

“What happened last night?” Vince asks, his voice hoarse from sleep.  
  
Nicholas swallows. “My parents died when I was six,” he whispers. “Yesterday was their wedding anniversary.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Nicholas shrugs. “My uncle – we don’t talk anymore – he tried to explain what happened. All I heard was that they had left me and went somewhere else,” he admits, his voice cracking and tears filling his eyes.  
  
“You didn’t know better,” Vince says. “You were a little boy.”  
  
Nicholas closes his eyes and lets tears fall down his cheeks as he starts to cry again, his sobs shaking his entire body. “Everyone leaves me,” he chokes out. "They always do."  
  
“Hey,” Vince intones, turning him over so they are facing each other. His thumb brushes against the tears rolling down Nicholas’ cheeks, wiping them away as his lips press against his hairline. “I’m not leaving you.”  
  
In the confines of Nicholas’ bedroom, they take their time undressing each other. Clothes are discarded off the sides of the bed or pushed towards the foot board, forgotten between bed linens. 

Their bodies look different in the grey morning light and there are details about Vince’s form that Nicholas has never noticed before. 

Such as the freckles that dot his broad shoulders and the birthmark near the right side of his mouth. 

Or the scar near his navel that’s just a shade lighter than the golden color of his skin.  
  
It’s the first time that sex between them is unhurried and gentle. They take from each other equally and give back tenfold between the Egyptian cotton sheets. 

There’s no obscenities being uttered into his ear, just the sound of Vince’s shuddering breath as he moves above Nicholas, his green eyes boring down on his face as the older man’s pleasure mounts.  
  
He reaches between them for his cock, stroking in time with Vince’s movements, and arches his back as his insides tingle. Nicholas feels Vince’s mouth capturing his in a heated kiss and moans as his orgasm rips through him.

As he falls apart in the older man’s arms, he realizes it's a vastly different kind of release. Once it’s over and they collapse back on the bed, Nicholas remembers that it’s the first time they’ve had sex face to face.  
  
“Go back to sleep,” Vince whispers to him, brushing stray locks of Nicholas’ hair from his forehead.   
  
He does; slowly drifting off under his lover's tender ministrations. There's no lewd pillow talk or one of them reaching for the other, just the pull of sleep and the warmth of blankets as the sun rises over New York City.  
  
Somehow, Vince spends the entire weekend with him, having placed a phone call to his wife and explained the situation. She is sympathetic, of course, and offers to let Nicholas stay with them if he feels so inclined.

It’s a nice gesture and far kinder than he deserves, but having lunch with the man you’re having an affair with and his wife is weird enough. 

They spend most of the time in bed, alternating between sleeping together and actually sleeping. They do go out: venturing to dive bars to shoot pool and drink beer, eating street food from the carts that line the sidewalks, or wandering through Central Park.  
  
It’s a nice change of pace, Nicholas admits to himself as burrows his head into Vince’s chest on Sunday morning, but he doesn’t expect it to last.

 

* * *

  
The strangest thing of all is that the dynamic of their arrangement changes; the power play is gone, replaced with mutual respect. 

When they go to dinner, they eat out in the open with everyone else. At bars and lounges, Vince introduces him as a person rather than a shiny new toy. 

Vince doesn’t take Nicholas back to the loft, opting to go to Nicholas’ apartment instead. 

He’s surprised the first time this happens. “I thought you wanted to entertain me,” Nicholas teases as they take a cab back to his place.  
  
Vince slips an arm over his shoulders and pulls him close. “I’d rather entertain you somewhere else,” he murmurs into his ear, his tongue teasing the lobe. “Somewhere more personal.”  
  
The sex is still passionate and makes Nicholas’ head spin, but it is also gentle and dare he even think it – _loving_. 

One night, after one drink too many and another mind blowing orgasm that leaves Nicholas loose tongued, he says, “If I didn’t know better, Vince Stevens, I’d think you were falling in love with me.”  
  
“Maybe I am,” Vince counters, his tone sincere.  
  
Nicholas turns over and looks him in disbelief. “Are you serious?” he asks.  
  
“Yeah,” Vince tells him as he leans in to kiss him. “Yeah, I’m serious,” he whispers when they pull apart.  
  
Nicholas grins and buries his head in the hollow of Vince’s neck. “Okay,” he says into his skin. “Good.”  
  
A week later Vince tells Nicholas that he’s going to meet with a lawyer so he can start the proceedings to divorce his wife. 

Nicholas knows he should feel bad or even guilty that he’s had a hand in breaking up a marriage. It must show on his face because Vince leans in, his breath brushing against Nicholas’ cheek, and says, “My marriage was over long before I met you. You just gave me a good reason to leave.”  
  
He should be alarmed, but deep down Nicholas is thrilled.

 

* * *

  
The day that Vince is scheduled to meet with his lawyer, he calls Nicholas and says, “Something came up.”  
  
“Cold feet?” Nicholas asks as he paces through the apartment.  
  
Vince chuckles. “No, not _that_ ,” he replies. “Some shit is going down at the loft and I need to get over there, so I had to push my meeting back to tomorrow afternoon.” He knows about the actual purpose of the loft and how Vince shares it with four other friends so they can meet with their mistresses. 

Truth be told, Nicholas figured it out pretty early on. 

“It’s going to be surreal going back there,” Vince muses. “I’ll talk to them about handing the papers over since I won’t be needing it anymore.”  
  
Nicholas’ lips quirk into a smile. “Not even for old times’ sake?”  
  
“It’s lost its allure,” Vince tells him. “Look, I’m about to go up. I’ll call you later, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” he echoes, his stomach clenching.  
  
“Nick, it’s going to be fine,” Vince says softly. “I love you and I _will_ talk to you later.”  
  
Nicholas nods, despite the fact that Vince can’t see him. “I love you, too.”  
  
When Vince doesn’t call by ten at night, Nicholas takes a cab down to the loft in Tribeca. He has the cab drop him off about a block away from the building and walks the rest of the way, ignoring the biting cold of November. 

He turns the corner and stops short, his mouth dropping open. 

Outside the loft is a squadron of emergency vehicles: several police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance with a two coroner cars pulling up. Their red and blue lights dance off the surrounding structures and the crowd that gathers round the taped off perimeter.  
  
The entrance bursts open and two officers emerge, each holding a man in by their elbows as they lead them to awaiting cars. The men - who Nicholas has never seen before - look stone faced and unapologetic as they are eased into separate backseats.  
  
With his heart threatening to expel itself out his throat, Nicholas takes a step closer just as the doors open again. 

He counts three body bags as they roll out onto the street. Nicholas realizes that he’s stopped breathing when he chokes on his own inhale and sucks in the bitter cold air, gasping and coughing.  
  
He turns on his heel and leaves, already knowing what has transpired.

 

* * *

  
  
Nicholas books a flight to London, only packing a single carry on to take with him.

He figures that he can send for the rest of his belongings once he’s settled, but for now one suitcase is enough. 

Packing in a hurry, Nicholas’ frantic movements match the gasps coming from his throat.

Once he’s in the air, Nicholas goes to the first class bathroom and vomits before returning to his seat to order a glass of scotch. How he’s able to stomach it will forever remain a mystery to him.

The flight is blur and the taxi ride to his uncle’s townhouse near Hyde Park equally so. He pays the driver, ignoring the astronomical amount it cost for a ride from Heathrow, and finds himself on his uncle’s doorstep.  
  
To be fair the townhouse is also his property, but his uncle has been the one occupying it for the last nine or so years. Nicholas rings the bell and waits in the chilly morning air for someone to answer. 

It’s Marie, his uncle’s loyal secretary, who answers. She looks sleepy and slightly annoyed until she realizes who has gotten her out of bed.

“Nicholas,” she breathes, taking in the sight of him as if he was a ghost before pulling him into a warm embrace. “Oh sweet boy, you lovely boy. I’ve missed you.”  
  
“I’m sorry for not calling ahead,” he apologies flatly as he tiredly returns the hug.  
  
Marie snorts. “You don’t need to call ahead,” she tells him as she pulls away, getting another good look at him. “Come inside. I’ll have someone prepare your room for you. Are you hungry? Did you eat on the plane?”  
  
He allows Marie take off his coat while she calls for an attendant before he addresses the elephant in the room. “Is my uncle here?”  
  
Marie shakes her head. “He’s at Hameldon for the week. We’re expecting him tomorrow evening,” she says with pity. Marie tilts her head, looking him over. “Nicholas, love, are you all right? You look rather drawn… pale, too.”  
  
“I’m fine,” he states. “Just tired.”  
  
Marie nods with a sad smile and asks no more questions.  
  
Nicholas finds himself in one of many childhood bedrooms, watching as the attendants turn down his bed and start unpacking his suitcase for him. After a moment he goes to the bathroom and goes to the motions of undressing and showering away the stench of New York City.

It spirals down the drain with very little pomp or circumstance, completely forgotten. By the time he’s done, the attendants are gone and his suitcase is stashed in the walk-in closet.  
  
Miserable and heartsick, Nicholas climbs into bed and throws the covers over his body, resigning himself to sleep.

 

* * *

  
At some point during the following day or perhaps it’s the day after that, Nicholas swears he hears his uncle’s voice in the hallway.

He’s conversing with Marie by the sound of it, though Nicholas is only half awake and isn’t all that certain. “When did he arrive?”  
  
“Early morning. Just showed up on the doorstep. I saw a cab pulling out of the drive when I was coming down the stairs to answer the door.”  
  
“Did he say how long he was staying?”  
  
“He’s _your_ nephew! If you’re thinking of throwing him out, you’ll make your sister spin in her grave!”  
  
“He made his decision.”  
  
“ _You_ forced _him_ to make that decision.”  
  
“I did no such thing!”  
  
“Edward…he’s not well. There's something about him - he didn’t look right.”  
  
He’s falling back asleep when the door creaks open and the sound of quiet footsteps follow as they approach his bed. Nicholas doesn’t bother to open his eyes when a cool hand is pressed against his forehead, then his cheek.  
  
He doesn’t hear the rest of what they say as darkness swallows him. In all honesty, he doesn't really want to.

 

* * *

  
“Nicholas?” He’s sure it’s his uncle this time. “Young man… wake up.”  
  
He wants to tell him that it’s his goddamn house too and that despite evidence to the contrary, he has every single right to stay there. Except he’s too drained.  
  
A hand brushes against his cheek, tapping it. “Nicky?” He hasn’t been called that since...Genovia, when he forsworn his uncle for Mia and the Renaldi family.  
  
“Tired,” Nicholas rasps, not opening his eyes.  
  
“I understand that, but you need to eat something.”  
  
Nicholas swallows, wincing at the dryness of his throat. “Tired.”  
  
“What do you want me to do, sir?”  
  
He hears his uncle sigh heavily. “Call emergency services,” he commands in a shaken tone.

Nicholas feels his uncle's hand on his face and the pressure of the Viscount's palm follows him as he's swallowed by darkness.

 

* * *

  
Nicholas wakes up in a private hospital room and it’s the first time he’s been truly lucid since arriving in London. 

He's hooked up to god knows what and feels the press of a nasal cannula up his nose. It leaves his nostrils feeling dry and rubs annoyingly against his cheeks.

As Nicholas becomes more aware of himself, he realizes that his entire body is stiff and aching as he shifts his position in the hospital bed.  
  
“Allow me to help,” says his uncle who magically appears at his side. He places his hands under Nicholas’ armpits and assists him into a more upright position. 

Nicholas stares at him when they are done and realizes that though his hair has more gray and his face as several more wrinkles, his uncle looks more or less the same. 

“You certainly know to make an entrance,” his uncle comments as he pulls up a seat next to Nicholas and folds his coat over his lap. There’s no bite in the Viscount's tone; he's just stating fact. “Do you need anything? Water? Ice chips? Tea?”  
  
Nicholas nods. “Water,” he rasps.  
  
His uncle fetches him a waxy paper cup filled with lukewarm water, which Nicholas drinks in small sips before handing it back with a trembling hand. “You’ve been in the hospital for three days,” his uncle explains as he sets the cup down. “The morning after I came back from Aberdeenshire, I had a difficult time waking you.”  
  
“I don’t remember much,” Nicholas confesses in a whisper.  
  
His uncle shrugs. “No one expects you to,” he replies. “Your doctors said that it’s Acute Stress Reaction. They’ve started you on anti-anxiety medication and given me a list of physicians who specialize in this sort of thing. So you can speak to someone when they release you.”  
  
“Sorry to be a bother,” Nicholas says, not knowing what else to say.  
  
His uncle shakes his head. “Never mind that,” the Viscount tells him. “You’re family.”  
  
Perhaps it’s exhaustion or the anti-anxiety medication still adjusting in his system, but Nicholas cries for the first time since leaving New York. It comes out of him in shuddering sobs and fat tears that roll down his cheeks.

His uncle's chair makes a screeching sound against the tile floor and he finds himself cradled in the Viscount's arms, being comforted and making amends.

 

* * *

  
Therapy is a good to him and allows Nicholas to address his previously ignored deep-seeded abandonment issues. He realizes a few weeks into his sessions with a soft spoken woman named Dr. Asha Patel that it all started when his parents died. 

“You know,” she says over her notepad, “you are allowed to be angry at them. It’s part of the grieving process.”

He’s about twenty-seven years late, but Nicholas allows himself to be angry - enraged, even - at his parents for getting in that car and driving to the opera. “They should have stayed home that night,” he hisses through tears one night when his uncle finds him sobbing on the study floor.  
  
His uncle nods, understanding his nephew's sorrow. “You’re right, Nicky,” he tells him. “They should have.”  
  
Nicholas’ emotions about his parent’s death parallels the grief and anger of losing Vince. Even though he doesn’t talk about it directly, Nicholas alludes to the subject using the visage of his parents. 

It may fool his therapist, but his uncle seems to know that something propelled his nephew’s episode. By some mercy the Viscount does not ask, though he says, “When you are ready, we can talk about it.”  
  
“What if I’m never ready to talk about it?” Nicholas asks one day as they are riding horses at the estate in Aberdeenshire.  
  
The Viscount brings his horse to a halt and makes a study of his nephew. “Then you’re never ready,” he replies.  
  
“And that’s okay with you?” Nicholas inquires, wondering if old age has mellowed his uncle.  
  
He nods. “Yes,” he says nudging his horse with his heel, sending her into a steady walk. “It’s perfectly fine by me.”  
  
“Who are you and what the hell have you done with my uncle?” Nicholas quips as he catches up to the older man.  
  
The Viscount rolls his eyes and snaps with a laugh, “Oh shut up!”

 

* * *

  
He runs into a friend from Cambridge on the streets of London and somehow they get into a conversation of a restaurant that he’s planning to open with a friend, Peter, from culinary school. Some sort of Asian fusion with New American. 

“The hard part is looking for investors,” the friend, Harry, admits as they have a round of beer in a pub that smells of stale beer and peanuts.  
  
Nicholas nods, interested. “How much would you need?”  
  
“Now Nick,” Harry says, waving him off. “This isn’t a ploy to wring your pockets dry…”  
  
“But what if I wanted to,” Nicholas counters before gulping down the stout in his glass. “The man of leisure thing is only fun for so long.”  
  
Harry is awestruck. “You’re serious then?”  
  
“Serious as a barrister,” Nicholas replies with a smile.  
  
He becomes a silent partner, not wanting to overshadow the project with the notoriety of his name and busts his ass just as much as everyone else. The business venture gives his life a new sense of balance and at the end, the restaurant is a roaring success. 

It’s the following March and the London sky is pouring down rain in icy sheets. Nicholas is sitting at the bar, nursing a glass half drunken scotch, as he goes over paperwork for their next supply order. Peter comes out of the kitchen, holding a plate of tonight’s special and sets it down in front of Nicholas, who fails to notice.

“You know, Harry said you were bit of a party boy at university,” he jibes as he leans against the bar.  
  
“I also managed to graduate with First Class Honours,” Nicholas replies in a distracted voice before looking up and seeing the plate in front of him. “Is this it?”  
  
Peter nods. “Yes sir,” he says as he hands Nicholas a fork. “Consider this your lunch break.”  
  
“It’s almost dinnertime,” Nicholas comments with a grin as he slides his glasses off his face.  
  
“My apologies, my lord,” Peter quips as Nicholas gives him a playful shove. “I’m heading back in, but enjoy it.”  
  
Nicholas takes a bite and groans. “You’re an evil genius, Peter!”  
  
“I know,” Peter calls as he disappears back into the kitchen. “Just read the papers.”  
  
Nicholas laughs as he starts to dig into his dinner. He realizes that he is famished and that Peter is not only an evil genius, but a psychic as well. 

The restaurant is just starting to get busy for the dinnertime rush as Nicholas alternatively focuses on his paperwork, the meal in front of him, and the scotch cradled in his hand. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but as Nicholas brings an empty glass scotch to his lips, he realizes he’s been there too long.  
  
“Now,” says a rich baritone over the clinking glasses and patron’s voices in the restaurant. It’s one part husky and much less cocky than it used to be. “You look like a man who could use a drink.”  
  
At first Nicholas thinks he’s having a nervous breakdown and hallucinating that voice.  
  
He wants to pull out his phone and call his therapist, his uncle, emergency services. Instead, Nicholas swallows down the sob that is building in his throat. “I have a drink,” he replies, hoarsely as he looks up in disbelief.  
  
“So you do,” Vince says as he leans against the bar with a wary smile, close enough for Nicholas to catch a whiff of the familiar spicy and subtle scent of his cologne.  
  
Nicholas stares, dumbly, as Vince takes a seat next to him, their arms brushing against each other. He feels real enough - warm and solid next to him - as Nicholas reaches to touch the exposed skin of his wrist. 

This is real. 

Perhaps later he’ll ask what happened, how he saw three body bags (one of which he was sure contained Vince’s body), and ask why he never called to tell him. 

But for now Vince is real and alive, promises have been kept, and it seems that everything is falling into place.  
  
Nicholas nods. “So I do,” he echoes.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Still I found you ...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039074) by [froggy_freek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggy_freek/pseuds/froggy_freek)




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